


oh my god, they were quarantined

by cobwebsaint



Series: Domestic Nightmares [3]
Category: Slipknot (Band)
Genre: Gen, Gen Work, Notfic, One Shot, Roommates, Sickfic, honestly this is just a bunch of stupid bullshit, you know it was coming somebody had to do it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-19
Updated: 2020-03-21
Packaged: 2021-02-28 17:34:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,082
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23221033
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cobwebsaint/pseuds/cobwebsaint
Summary: ♫ Couple bros, chillin' in the COVID-19 pandemic, all forced to quarantine under the same roof. ♫
Series: Domestic Nightmares [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1879594
Comments: 22
Kudos: 41
Collections: Fic Journal of the Plague Year





	1. A Nightmare On 16th St.

**Author's Note:**

> LISTEN!!! Y'all knew it was fucking coming. Somebody was gonna do it and I took it upon myself, thank you very much. 
> 
> These are rough scary times and I just wanted to make some light of it, y'know. I wanted to write something quick and dumb as all hell to make us all feel a little better. 
> 
> Here's kind of a first look into the DNCU (Domestic Nightmares Cinematic Universe). Little something to start you off and give an idea of what's in store for ya while I'm working on some other bigger, more well done fics for this AU.
> 
> This is gonna be a two parter so keep your eyes peeled for a second chapter. 
> 
> I hope y'all enjoy and I hope this gives you a little splash of serotonin in these trying times.

About a week or two into this whole national lockdown, statewide quarantine thing, Sid had started to feel under the weather. Of course it was Sid. He was the only one still working. It wasn’t  _ his  _ fault he had the shittiest job you could during plague times, forced to stock shelves around the clock cuz people were still off their fucking shits for no reason. He couldn’t help it. It wasn’t his fault. But when his cough turned into he, Mick, and Jim all slowly withering away in bed with what had to be this stupid fucking virus, then tension started to rise a little. 

Even though Jim and Sid had it way worse, considering they both smoked like fucking chimneys, Mick was still somehow at his most murderous despite being halfway to hacking up a wholeass lung. 

Apparently his rage knew no bounds. It seemed to be unstoppable. And frankly, Jim was just glad it wasn’t directed at him this time. Although he did kind of feel bad for Sid. 

The defense on Sid’s behalf was strong. He’d been lifting what he could this whole time, making sure they had all the necessities— a little extra ramen and minute rice and snacks, some extra acetaminophen just in case something like this happened, he’d even made off with a case of beer somehow. He told Jim nobody really gave a shit anymore. That and he wasn’t working in close enough quarters with anybody for them to notice. Storeroom was basically empty. He could just stash a couple things by the door and haul ass when he clocked out. 

Somehow he was being the unsung hero when Mick and Jim were either way too paranoid or way too lazy (little bit of both) to go out themselves. Which was fucking weird enough. He wasn’t exactly the shining example of y’know. Useful. Most of the time. He was here to be a nuisance. But hard times do be bringing out the weird in people. 

He cared. It’s just that his love language was painintheassonese. 

But anyway. He did the responsible thing and called out the second he started showing symptoms, locked himself up in his room for most of the day. Tried to just. Y’know. Stay out of the way, even if they all knew it was too late. 

Jim was second down, only about two days after it hit Sid. By that time, they were already disturbing Mick’s beauty rest (read: depression naps.) Hell was already starting to brew, but then he started coughing too. 

And dear reader, Sidney knew then that his life was over. 

This wasn’t even the first time some bullshit like this had happened. They’d all had their turn bringing some death virus home and spreading it around. And it did spread. It always spread. Like goddamn wildfire. The 16th St. commune was full of dumbasses who didn’t take particularly good care of themselves. Mick was the exception. To a certain extent. At least he ate three meals a day and worked out once in a while, but deep down he knew he didn’t have the fuckin’ room to say shit here. He just liked to bitch. 

(Jim had said several times to several people that he was convinced Mick was fascinated by the sound of his own voice. He was not about to say that to his face and get chokeslammed, however.)

~

Day one, Shawn had sent out saying that if anybody needed anything they had access to his stockpile. Cuz apparently that’s what was behind one of the various locked doors in his basement. Nobody was really surprised by this news. Mainly because they knew they shouldn’t be. This is Shawn we’re talking about. Lives in a house in the middle of fuckass nowhere in the woods surrounded by an 8 foot chain link fence, has a mysteriously large sum of money for a strip club bouncer, Shawn. Sketchy is his middle name dude. Of course he’s a fuckin doomsday prepper too. 

The groupchat blew the fuck up with everybody and their mother demanding pics for proof and it is literally a 10x12 room full of everything. Shawn insists he didn’t participate in the mass hysteria stockpiling though and he’s actually not lying for the most part so at least there’s that. And at least he’s not selfish about it. Weird as fuck? Yes. But not selfish. 

After three days of them all being down for the count they start hounding him, mostly for like NyQuil and shit. Y’know. Hacking up lungs and all. Not to mention all three of them are totally the type to just drink the shit straight from the bottle. Nobody under that roof claims to be smart. 

Anyway they bitch and argue for like three hours cuz they keep passing out and Shawn’s a stubborn dickhead. He doesn’t wanna go out till after dark like bitch!!!! We’re DYING!!!!!! But by the time they finally come to a consensus its’s fucking 8pm anyway sdkhgb. 

Eventually they manage to give him something of a list and they argue for another ten minutes about where he’s gonna drop the shit. The three of them all want him to put it all on the back porch cuz the neighbors are not to be trusted for shit but Shawn doesn’t wanna brave the fucking jungle behind their place. Which. Shut up. That doesn’t make any sense, you live in the middle of the woods. But nobody has the energy nor the brain cells to bring that up. 

Shawn eventually gives it up and folds just to make them shut up. Also because Mick threatened to meet him at the door and cough in his face. 

An hour later, give or take, Shawn shows up and trudges through the yard and leaves a couple crates (yes, crates, not bags. Lest we forget Shawn is incapable of doing anything the normal way. But hey. Free crates. They’ll find a use for ‘em. Vinyl crates or fuckin’ footrests or give one of ‘em to Corey for shits and giggles.) on the back porch for them and throws a fucking ROCK at the door cuz it doesn’t cross his mind to just. Y’know. Text the group chat again when he’s safe back in the car. Dumbass. 

But like, he also gives them way more than they asked for and they’re all like fuckin’ SCORE so whatever. He can continue being an immeasurable idiot. 

Also when they asked for cough syrup, they did not expect prescription strength codeine cough syrup. They got the codeine. They choose to just accept it and not ask any questions. 

~

So all the while, with Mick ready to commit crimes and all, Sid’s pretty much MIA. Like he’s obviously in his room. The door is locked. They can  _ hear  _ him dying inside there every now and again. Food disappears from the kitchen that Mick and Jim know they didn’t take themselves. But they have not actually seen or spoken to him in days. 

In all logical conclusions, he’s perfectly fine, just avoiding being hung by his asshole and all, but unfortunately for them all, Jim has worried bitch disease and he simply cannot live with not seeing dear rat boy for more than a couple hours. By the time they reach day three with no physical proof of his existence, Jim is thoroughly convinced, with no sense nor evidence, that he is in there rotting.

When Jim tries to give Mick the “I’m worried about him” spiel, Mick is just like. Okay. Let him die. And Jim’s like MOTHERFUCKER!!!! 

Mick tells him to go try and get Sid to talk if he’s so damn worried and Jim’s like >:(( you could at least try and help me >:(( and Mick just flat out refuses, leaving James to his own neurotic devices which we KNOW is a terrible idea. 

Jim still does go back upstairs and slides up to Sid’s door with that “hey Siiiiid” shit. Like he’s just rambling to the stickers and caution tape stuck to the outside of his door. “I promise I won’t let Mick murder you, no getting out of it now, we all got the plague, it’s fine, now we gotta just wait shit out together, come on man.” 

He gets. Nothing. Absolutely nothing. Nobody even KNEW Sid was capable of shutting up for this long. Jim hears him hack up what sounds to be some blood and bone fragments, but he is not swayed. He still believes in his heart of hearts that Sid’s maggot food in there. Cuz them having a soup can and saltine bandit and Jim imagining all the hacking from beyond the door is way more plausible. Obviously. 

Yet another day goes by, more food and medicine and shit going missing. They even get hit with a waft of weed smoke and a coughing fit to end them all from the end of the hallway cuz have I mentioned that none of them have any goddamn brain cells? Jim is still worried for no fucking reason. 

At this point, Mick just agrees to try and figure out what the hell is up with the gremlin just to get Jim to quit whining. He’s tired. He doesn’t wanna hear it anymore. He wants to eat, sleep, and ignore that he is sick. 

Little fresh air and exercising their singular shared brain cell might do them some good anyway. 

The condo’s built a bit on an incline so you can get up to Sid’s window if you just stand on something a couple feet tall. It’s even easier when you’re the size of a skyscraper. They devise a plan to drop in and see what they can find, which is easy enough considering one of the old, out of commission garbage cans Mick used to use for maceration is grown into the weeds over there. Cue them getting dressed for the first time in weeks and hiking around into the side yard to try and execute this master plan.

Mick’s only job here is basically just spot Jim and hold the garbage can steady so it doesn’t fall over or some shit and Jim doesn’t break every bone in his body. (Read: Mick doesn’t want to be the one to break his neck here, but Jim can because this was  _ his  _ idea.)

Couple minutes, or like an hour of trying, failing, and actually getting a laugh out of the king spiteful asshole himself, Jim finally manages to get up there and just barely steady himself on Sid’s windowsill. He has to smush his entire face into the glass to be able to see inside cuz of the glare. But Sid’s very much in there. Very much alive. He’s just sitting on the floor, leaning back against the side of his bed with a bottle of pedialyte wedged between his legs. Got his headphones on and his laptop next to him and he’s just. Vibing. Chillin’ with his transformers. 

Jim starts smacking on the glass and yelling at him like YOU LITTLE MOTHERFUCKER COME OUT HERE AND FACE ME LIKE A MAN YOU HAD ME WORRIED— and as soon as he takes notice he just gets up. Pulls the cord on the blinds and lets ‘em drop back down. Draws ‘em shut. Y’know, like an asshole. 

Jim hops down and starts grabbing rocks and shit and tossing them up at his window and only now is Mick like. Well this is something I can get behind. So they’re out in their side yard looking like absolute fucking maniacs, hollering at nothing. Like, it’s absolutely shocking they don’t get the cops called on them more often, but nobody in this neighborhood wants pigs around so they just consider themselves lucky. 

Five minutes of yelling until they just about lose their voices entirely and the assault on the poor innocent windowpane, the window FINALLY cracks open a tiny bit and by now Sid’s fucking scream laughing because his roommates are STUPID. 

Now Jim’s mad which is still more like a puppy growling at you but he’s DEMANDING to know what the fuck Sid’s been doing this whole time and why he’s not even TALKING to them and you just see him stick his damn nose out the bottom of the window where it’s cracked open like 1) I tuned y’all motherfuckers out I been sleeping and making sick beats this whole damn time 2) DAMN I WAS JUST TRYNA NOT GET TURNED INSIDE OUT BY MICK DUDE. Mick just shrugs cuz. That’s fair. 

Jim’s still dumbfounded as to how the fuck he could stay in his room 23 ¾ hours out of the day like BRUH. Where have you been PISSING. HOW DID YOU MANAGE TO AVOID US THAT MUCH. 

Hint: the garbage can step ladder was not full of rainwater.

They should have taken Sid out a long time ago, but that knowledge is just enough to convince Mick to not scalp him the second he emerges from his cave again. 

The next couple weeks consist of them laying around on the couch, playing video games, watching trashy reality TV, and even more headassery. 


	2. it's theeeee end of sanity as we know it

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Corey and Paul attempt to entertain themselves.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pt. 2 came along way faster than I anticipated and it's even more headass than before. 
> 
> Again, I hope this helps everybody let go and relax a little. There's talk of a total lockdown here now and I know plenty of you are already hunkered down like that so take a couple minutes, have a laugh, take in some idiots. We'll make it, my dudes. 
> 
> Here's your look at Corey and Paul's side of the coin. Next up will (probably, hopefully) be some actually well written garbage with all these idiots so get hype!!!

Meanwhile on 21st St. Corey’s been pissy since this whole thing started. 

I mean. So has Paul. 

Bars and shit were first to go, meaning the stripclub was totally shut down so Corey didn’t get jack shit from the real moneymaker and Paul’s hours were cut by less than half, and that was before they were like. On second thought. Y’all can’t serve food either. Shut it down. 

After that Corey only worked about two regular shifts before the temp hour changes and one weird evening shift at the porn shop before THEY completely shut down along with every other nonessential business because this whole goddamn thing was some awful dystopian nightmare. 

Did they both deserve to take some PTO? Sure. But this didn’t fuckin’ qualify. 

So, along with the rest of the world, they sat on the couch, bitching and moaning, not getting much of anything done. Like they acknowledged this whole thing was for public safety and shit but Jesus Christ, did it suck. 

Those government sanctioned checks better start rolling in here real soon.

Couple days in Paul decides he’s gonna play through RE3 again. For like. The billionth time. Which Corey reminds him is an awful idea because, alas, he is still not very good at it. Like he’s just gonna get even more pissed than he already is.

Paul does not listen and does not care. 

It’s boring in quarantine, okay? And he didn’t get the new Animal Crossing so this is what we’re gonna do. 

Corey fires off in the groupchat like THE DUMB BASTARD IS AT IT AGAIN I’m gonna spend this entire quarantine listening to him YELLING and fuckin the 16th St. idiots are all like. Yeah. And? That’s just life around here.

Chris and Joey are going back and forth about how Paul does this in one form or another EVERY SINGLE TIME something even like, slightly insignificant happens. Broke up with his partner of the month? Didn’t bring home as many tips as usual? Missed the bus and had to pay for a Lyft instead? World is ending? BREAK OUT THE HORROR GAMES BABY WE’RE TRYNA COPE.

Paul just pops in to tell them to fuck off and then goes back to it. Cuz he’s just trying to DEAL here ALRIGHT?

Oh, but dear Sidney had a bright idea. 

He’s like yo if you guys are just gonna sit there and fuck off and shit why don’t you set up a cam or something we ain’t got nothing better to do either. Discord party babeyyyy. OR BETTER YET SET UP A STREAM OR SOME SHIT. WE CAN JUST CHILL IT’LL BE FUN!!!! MAYBE WE’LL MAKE FRIENDS!!!! 

Corey’s like BET cuz 1) attention 2) he’s gonna go absolutely fucking stir crazy if he doesn’t talk to at LEAST 20 different people per day. He cannot function like that. Fuck. 

Paul basically just tells him if he can set it up he’s in but OTHERWISE he’s gonna keep vibing. 

Double bet, bitch. He finally has A Task that isn’t forcing himself to write something he winds up hating and deleting anyway.

He’s familiar enough with the concept and has all the necessary equipment for reasons AND Paul does have a Twitch account so within another day they’re up and running. The stream has some new and incredibly stupid title every day. 

_ “COVID-POCALYPSE: RE3 — THE ONLY CURE” _

_ “WE’RE ALL DYING BITCH, LET’S GET YOU SOME RE3” _

_ “WE DON’T HAVE NEW HORIZONS SO IT’S RE3 TILL THE DEATH VIRUS GETS US” _

He’s just trying to entertain himself here.

Due to this, however, they do start to draw in a little bit of an audience. Starts off as like, 15-20 people just kinda poking their heads in to see what’s poppin’. The whole world is in lockdown, there ain’t nothing better to do. Corey absolutely LIVES for it though like. The chat’s active??? With people who he can tell the same 50 stories to that all his friends have already fucking heard more than enough times??? Real shit???

So it’s a couple days of that. Their numbers climb a little bit but nothing real big. Paul even starts participating in talking to the people. It’s only when people start asking for their handles on the gram and shit that it kinda hits Corey that like. Hm. He’s got a decent following on his personals. (Even bigger one on his work ones but he’s already milking for tips there.) Not huge, but like 3k on Insta and about 1k on Twitter due to all the thottery and the writing and the occasional political rants. 

Perhaps… if he… posted about it… the audience might grow… and he might get… more friends…

> _ [Insert photo of their stream setup, which is essentially just a bunch of shit stacked on two cases of Monster] _
> 
> **_@bootlegginger_ ** **_:_ ** FUCK a pandemic! No income, nothing better to do, and nothing but time on our hands baby! My best bud  **_@graymatter_ ** and I have been streaming the past couple days and it’s way more fun than it sounds. Maybe come hang out? Chat it up? Listen to Paul bitch for six straight hours while I watch? Swear it’s worth it. Come ride this bullshit out with us! I’ll smack a link in my bio and keep y’all updated. B)

Twitter gets the same spiel but it’s a giffed version of a story post covered in stickers and shit. 

From there they start posting every time they start up stream and their viewership steadily gains some momentum. 20 turns to 50 turns to 100 and by week two of this fuckshit they hit 500 and that is how Paul and Corey kind of accidentally became Twitch Streamers™️ during the COVID-19 pandemic out of sheer, unadulterated boredom and need for social interaction. 

Streams mainly consist of the two of them either bickering, laughing at absolutely nothing, setting off the smoke alarms a couple times, nearly breaking a lamp, impromptu DIY and makeup tutorials, “witty” commentary, friendly roasts, getting yelled at for trying to walk in frame without pants, the full process of Paul getting absolutely off the walls on caffeine and proceeding to fall asleep mid boss fight, rants about socialism, several people asking if they were dating followed by them both giving each other the Most Disgusted Look Ever, several questions about “what Corey is” answered with some new ancient creacher, cryptid, eldritch beast, object, or threat each time, and much, much more.

~

A non-exhaustive list of notable things that happen while in this seemingly never-ending lockdown:

  * While sat out on the balcony at sometime around midnight, chain smoking and trying to spot possums and raccoons out in the woods, a game of penis broke out. It started with the dudebros two levels above them, they joined in, and when they got loud enough it started to infect the whole building. After about five minutes they were on the fucking floor ROLLING and you could hear that shit echoing through the whole neighborhood until the middle aged white lady who everybody in this part of the building could hear getting RAILED on a nightly basis had the nerve to come out and tell them to knock it off.
  * Paul got a little too curious about what it was like to have shaved legs and nobody talked him out of it. In fact, Corey just whipped out a bottle of Nair cuz he’s an enabler for all questionable ideas. He then spent a solid day just feeling his own legs. Y’know. As you do. That led to a weird conversation about dolphins, sharks, and whales.
  * While sorting through some of their shit they found a brand new set of sterile tattoo needles and some ink. Why those things were in their apartment does not matter. What does matter is that on top of several other shitty stick n’ pokes they now have, one of them has badly done dick somewhere on their body forever now. They will not tell you who or where. Somebody will figure it out eventually. 
  * Paul made a sourdough starter. Then Paul made sourdough. Then Paul started cooking. Apparently he’s a pretty good cook. And apparently you and your roommate feel more and more like a married couple when you’re not allowed to go out, save for buying groceries or going to the doctor. Quarantine is fucking weird. 
  * Corey’s been planning on setting up a new pole somewhere in the house for at least a year and just never got around to it. Unfortunately, he now has the time, means, and motivation to actually do it. Long story short, there’s a pole in the middle of their living room now. They didn’t set it up right the first three times. It is honestly shocking they didn’t break straight through the floor with how hard they both fell.
  * Quarantine just means the hustle gets stronger, and now they’re both home so Corey gets a bunch of terrible ideas. One of which involves a gallon of fake blood, LED light strips, and ruining the bathtub. All of which involve Paul manning the camera. Paul Gray is a fucking saint. The amount of times he’s had to see this little fuck’s ass would be enough to permanently blind any average man.
  * Their downstairs neighbor comes up to tell them to shut the fuck up and they answer the door by cracking it open enough to stick an arm out and point one of those giant cans of Lysol directly in their face. 
  * A family of spiders is found to be living, rent free, behind their couch. Paul insists they be allowed to stay. 
  * There’s a whole lot of sitting in the middle of the floor at 2am with an acoustic guitar strumming random chord progressions and freestyling war ballads but they’re about said family of spiders behind the couch.
  * They’re both sober but they still make virgin drinks for funsies. It starts off that way. It ends with mixing coconut milk, the liquid from a can of chickpeas, fruit cocktail, wasabi, pickle juice, and some health food juice that’s been sitting in the back of the fridge for… they don’t know how long. They’re not dry heaving into the sink cuz they have the virus, they’re doing it cuz they’re fucking IDIOTS. 
  * They accumulate at least 5 stolen traffic cones as a byproduct of late night walks. This part is pretty normal honestly.
  * Corey conceptualizes a new stage persona. A plague doctor named Alistair Von Disease. 
  * Listen. There are ALREADY way too many sex toys just laying around in random places in the apartment but they start hiding them in plain sight or just like, straight up replacing coffee cups with fleshlights, waiting to see when one of them will notice and it gets way out of fucking control. 
  * Shawn still wouldn’t let them answer the door even though they for sure weren’t sick so on like, the third supply drop of quarantine from him, they decided to get creative. Their balcony is adjacent to a railing right in front of their door so they told Shawn to put everything into a reusable grocery bag instead of a fucking crate and used a decommissioned shower curtain rod like a zipline to slide everything over. 
  * Cigarette Jenga.
  * Designing headstones for the 16th St. idiots in photoshop. 



**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ratcoven.tumblr.com

**Author's Note:**

> ratcoven.tumblr.com


End file.
